Escapism
by touzoku
Summary: To two sheltered beings, the pizzazz of modern holidays can be overwhelming. But for Malik, that's just what he needs. Thiefshipping.


So a few weeks ago on Malik's birthday, I wrote a satirical fanfic on Tumblr that was a "My Immortal" type crossover of Yugioh and Homestuck, and I felt really bad that the ship involved was Thiefshipping, so I wrote this in penance to the ominous Fandom Gods. Though I feel like I should apologize for this too, as I wrote it at like 2AM. _Oops_.

* * *

In the background, Jingle Bell Rock plays, and Bakura grits his teeth.

"Humans have such weird customs," he says with a snort as he continues to pick at the apple pie in front of him.

Malik continues to stare down at his tea. Bakura looks at the sullen teen and sighs. Human behavior is just weird in general.

"Are you upset over something?" he asks. Delicately, like the ladies on television dramas do. Of course, such fictional accounts always tend to lead to horrible screaming matches and tears, but compared to severed souls and trauma, Bakura took whatever he got.

"It's nothing," Malik said, looking out the window, "This time of year always gets me down."

"I'd imagine all of this tacky holiday bullshit can be overbearing. Especially combined with the weather."

"It's not that..." Malik says with a slight smile, "I actually like all of this Christmas stuff. It's silly, but it's really... distracting... In a nice way."

He sips his tea as Bakura laughs, "God, you modern humans really do know how to cater to vice. It's a bacchanalian field day compared to the shithole my last host lived in. Did you know you can view pornography on the internet?"

Bakura's proud of this fact, even though he has no interest in those sort of things. But detailing your addiction to the cream-puffs your Landlord brings home doesn't look too impressive when dealing with strictly nefarious business.

"It's very bright compared to what I used to live through too," Malik says with a sigh, "It's a whole different world."

"And these humans don't give a shit about their debauchery either!" Bakura cackles, "A few months back, I was wandering around those seedy bars, and there was a guy passed out in a sea of vomit. Stupid American tourist, tried to down twenty-one shots of shochu in honor of his birthday. Not only was he asinine for trying, the bloke probably didn't even know the drinking age is a year younger here."

Again, telling tales of pathetic tourists seems like a better option to take instead of detailing your nights devouring Wikipedia to gain such random facts.

Which is why when Malik looked even more depressed after this anecdote, that Bakura got concerned.

While the kohl lining Malik's face was already blurring from the typical daily routine, Bakura noticed that it was looking particularly smudged now.

"Malik, are you upset over something?" asked Bakura, "You seem to be crying."

"It's nothing," said Malik as he turned to face the window.

"I think you're lying," said Bakura, "Should I call Rishid?"

"Don't," choked Malik, "I don't want anything to do with him right now. I just want to continue eating dessert in this tacky diner, and walk around listening to the cheesy Christmas music, and just fucking escape until it's all over."

"Malik, what is it?" asked Bakura, "I'm not entirely good at dealing with humans, but you seem to be in pain. Your goals are similar to mine, so it would be worthwhile for you to be in good spirits, and I am willing to help you to the best of my abilities."

"Today is my birthday," said Malik as he faced Bakura, wiping the tears off his face, and making a mess out of the dripping eyeliner.

"My apologizes then," said Bakura stuttered, "I know that such an day is seen as a special occasion, and for me to mock a celebrating human while not knowing must be awfully insensitive. If you would have told me, I'm would have been more accommodating. And also probably would have chosen a better restaurant."

"No," said Malik bluntly, "It's the exact opposite."

Bakura paused for a moment staring at Malik with confusion, as he toyed with the chain of his Millennium Ring. As he stroked the thick cord, it came to him.

"I'm sorry," Bakura said, awkwardly placing his hand on Malik's. He desperately hoped this would not lead to a steamy kiss under the moonlight, as in those addictive dramas he clung to for human socializing tips.

Malik sighed and shook his head, "It's really not a problem. It shouldn't be."

"It is though," said Bakura, with a smirk, "Which is why we're going to cause all sorts of shit to get our vengeance. But tonight, we're going to get some more of this pie to go and spend all night torturing Rishid with Christmas carols."

It felt weird, helping Malik. Bakura rationalized helping Ryou as dutiful "rent" for his Landlord and a small heap of what might actually be pity for the lonely kid. But Malik had no obvious excuse. His beloved television dramas would probably say he was feeling compassion, but Bakura was readily growing suspicious of their realism. He was nothing more than an evil spirit of vengeance, a virus intended to destroy! The idea of sympathy was simply irrational.

Yet when Malik's lips did end up meeting his under the night sky, Bakura almost felt human.


End file.
